A Given Soul
by NovemberMurray
Summary: After the First Battle of Geonosis Rex is alone, the last member of his squad, struggling to survive Alpha 17's training regime, when he gets a helping hand and a the most important gift from an old Mandalorian Doctor. How Rex got the Jaig Eyes and his name. OneShot. No Pairings. Ties in to my other AU stories.


Author's Note: So this story is about how Rex got the Jaig Eyes. If you don't know they're those upturned V markings on his helmet. They're a Mandalorian thing. You can look it up on the Wiki.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even Mij. He was created by Karen Traviss for her Republic Commandos series.

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 **Dinuir Runi (A Given Soul) by November Murray**

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Mij Gilamar walked down the long white high ceilinged halls more cheerfully than he had in years. The ubiquitous white wasn't quite so eye smarting and the chemical clean smell didn't burn as much as it usually did. Even his _beskar_ armor felt lighter. The prospect of finally leaving Kamino for good was going a long way to lightening his mood. Geonosis changed everything. Saying goodbye to the _Kaminiise_ and their _r'oritsi_ city were two of the few good effects. Gilamar just had a few last minute maters to check on before he waved goodbye to the waterlogged planet forever.

The door of the training room hissed open for him and he walked in to the sounds of live fire and pounding plastoid boots. A familiar figure was standing on the observation platform just on the other side of the door. His back was ramrod straight and his hands clasped just above his belt behind his back.

"Putting them through their paces already?" He asked the Alpha ARC. A-17 was one of the strange few who didn't go by his name thought he had one. It was the name Jango gave him and he kept it close to his chest-plate.

"I didn't hear a single complaint. They know a little more about what to expect now. They're motivated."

"Motivated not to die."

"Exactly," Alpha said with a curt nod. Gilamar walked up to the edge of the platform and looked down at the men going through their exercises with nearly mathematical precision. They looked about twenty but Mij knew better. He'd watched the whole army grow up from embryos inside tanks to full men in under ten years. The ARCs had probably had it hardest (after maybe Skirata's Null boys). They'd been hand trained by Jango Fett, not a kind man by anyone's standards. He put them through hell before the fighting began so they would know what to expect. Now Alpha-17 was training the most promising infantry troopers to survive an engagement like Geonosis the same way.

"How are you doing?" Gilamar asked the ARC.

"Medically? Fine."

"And personally?"

Alpha was silent, his eyes focused on the men training below him.

"I have to ask these questions. I'm your doctor."

"The _Kaminiise_ are the doctors."

"Fine, so I don't have a degree in cloning. I do have experience with soldiers, _ad-ika_."

"I'm fine."

"Yet no one who's actually 'fine' ever says that," Gilamar noted to the ceiling stories above their heads.

"You'll be happy to leave Tipoca City?" Alpha asked the old sergeant.

"Yes, I will."

"So will I."

"Ah," Gilamar replied, nodding. It was always hard to watch your comrades, _ner vode_ go into battle and stay behind. More than once Gilamar had been that man because he could patch men up almost as well as he could take them apart. Even knowing he was where the army needed him often didn't make staying away from the front lines any easier.

"You're doing good work here."

"I know. These boys will survive because of this. They'll do their duty and keep the men under their command alive to fight this war."

"Just don't forget that. You're saving lives here too," Mij gave the ARC a solid pat on the back. Alpha just nodded. He stepped forward to the rail and called out in a sharp commanding tone that the drill was over and the men should take a break. They did so with visible relief. Some collapsed where they stood. Gilamar watched them with interest.

The infantry clones were different from the ARCs or the Commandos. They moved differently and socialized differently. ARCs were solitary. Commandos were insular to their squads. Infantry troopers seemed down right sociable by comparison (though no one cloned from Jango could be called truly personable). Most of them gathered together, talking, shaking hands, removing their helmets and telling jokes. The group walked around to the collapsed brothers, helping them up and sharing water and rations. One trooper extracted himself though. Gilamar watched the lone man duck behind one of the low walls used for cover in the live fire exercises. The lone trooper huddled there and pulled off his helmet, looking it over with a frown on his very serious face.

"Who's that?"

"CT-7567, no name yet," Alpha said. "He took down three squads of Geonosians covering his squad's escape route. They never needed it. He's the only survivor."

"Poor _shabuir_ ," Gilamar shook his head. "I think I'll go have a talk with him."

"Don't put any ideas in his head."

"Isn't that what we're paid for?" Gilamar responded. It was his time worn saying. If Jango didn't pay them to put ideas into the clones' heads than what did he pay them for?

"You're not getting paid anymore. You're contract's up."

"Then I'm answerable to no one." Gilamar responded as he descended the stairs.

The trooper huddled behind the barrier was spitting on his helmet and scrubbing at it with the heel of his glove when Gilamar approached.

"Don't do that!" the old doctor snapped at him and the trooper jumped nearly out of his bodysuit. He hadn't even recovered enough to stand and salute by the time Gilamar was crouching in front of him.

"Sir?"

"I'm a sergeant. You don't call me, sir."

"Yes, Sergeant."

"What are you doing to that?" he asked and pointed at the helmet.

"Cleaning it."

Mij held out a hand and accepted the helmet from the trooper. He noticed this particular trooper had his hair buzzed shorter than most, close to his head, just a dark shadow over his scalp. The helmet was similar, blank but for the slight red shadow of geonosian dust across it.

"Damn stuff stains just about anything, doesn't it?" Gilamar noted. "You leave it there, _ad-ika_. That place will always be in here," he rapped the boy hard on his head, "so don't be ashamed to show it out here," he pounded on the trooper's chest-plate.

"Tion jorhaa'i mando'a?" Gilamar asked if he spoke Mandalorian.

"Ni hibira," the trooper replied that he was learning.

"Good. You listen to what Alpha Seventeen says, what he teaches you?"

"It'll keep us alive. Make sure we're prepared. Not like before…" the boy trailed off and his eyes glazed over with the memories of battle. Gilamar frowned and tried to forget the man in front of him was only ten years old. It was hard.

"You follow orders?" He asked the trooper. "Fight where they tell you and hold your ground?"

"Yes, Sergeant." The clone sat up a little straighter, insulted by the question.

"Then you're doing what your Manda'lor wants from you. I know you won't let him down, _ad_. You known how to fight, keep yourself safe and alive?"

"Yes."

"You protect your family, your brothers, _gar vode?"_

" _Ratiin_!" _Always!_

"And you wear this," Gilamar said and slapped the trooper's chest plate again. "You wear your armor, scratches, dents, scorches and dust, all of it. Wear it proudly. Don't ever," he looked the trooper in the eyes, " _ever_ be ashamed of it. _Cuyi Mando'ade._ You know what that means?"

"I'm Mandalorian?"

"More than that, son. It means you're alive. You have a soul and future. You follow _Resol'nare_ , our way: _Ba'jur, Beskar'gam, Aliit, Ara'nov, Mando'a, and, Mand'alor:_ Education, Armor, Family, Self-defense, Language, and the Mandalore. You follow that and you will always be _mando'ade_. You'll have a place with us and a future, even in death."

" _Resol'nare,_ " the trooper repeated looking back at Gilamar with an overwhelmed expression. The old soldier just smiled kindly before looking down at the blank helmet of the trooper in his hand.

"I used to know this old _shabuir_ ," Gilamar said, fumbling in the pouches of his belt for the marker he kept there for triage. He pulled it out and bit off the cap. "He was a nasty hard-ass but he beat me senseless for a few months for a damned good reason. I went to him for help after my wife was murdered because I wasn't like you. I was _dar'manda_ then. He made me a man, gave me back my purpose in life when I lost everything." Gilamar scratched at the helmet with the marker, drawing out the symbol his old mentor had worn on his _buy'ce._ "He's long dead now so I don't think he'll be using his name for a while. I doubt we have names when we join the _manda_ if you chose to believe in that."

Gilamar held out the helmet for the trooper to inspect. On the red tinged surface were now two black upturned V shapes over the visor, like sharp pointed eyes. The trooper seemed to approve of the addition.

" _jai'galaar'la sur'haii'se,_ " Gilamar told him. "That's an old Mandalorian honor. I'm giving it to you, Rex."

"Rex?"

"That was his name. Now it's yours."

"Rex." The trooper nodded and looked down at his helmet. "I won't forget," he said to Gilamar, voice steady. " _Ba'jur, Beskar'gam, Aliit, Ara'nov, Mando'a, and, Mand'alor."_

"No you won't. _K'oyacyi,_ Rex," Gilamar said and stood up.

"Sergeant?"

"Yeah, son."

"What's your name?"

"Mij Gilamar."

"Maybe we'll meet again, someday."

"Look me up when you win the war. I'll show you _manda'yaim._ "

Over his shoulder, Gilamar caught Rex slipping on his newly adorned helmet and saluting. Gilamar felt his heart constrict just watching. More than likely that boy would die before his next birthday. At least now he had an identity. He wouldn't die a number. Rex was a Mandalorian and nothing, not the Republic or the Separatists or the _frackin' kaminiise_ could take that away from the boy now.

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Author's Note: So this story ties into my other AU Star Wars stories. If you're interested check out my Author page. If you want to see more of Karen Traviss's characters in various semi-cannon pieces just let me know with a review or a message or a piece of parchment in a bottle… you know. Hope you enjoyed it or at least didn't feel like you were wasting your time. (Unless that was what you wanted when you opened this story in which case, congratulations!) -Ember


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